


[Daddy] Brother Mine

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bickering, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Daddy Kink, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Humor, John is a Good Friend, Light Bondage, M/M, No Eurus Holmes, Post-Season/Series 01, Rimming, Roleplay, Rough Sex, Sibling Incest, Spanking, Top Mycroft Holmes, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 14:46:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18501172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: Mycroft demands Sherlock's and John's help on a case. Sherlock is his nasty self. But somehow John is not convinced.Mycroft and Sherlock spend some nice time together. Nice as in roleplay.





	[Daddy] Brother Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sherlock221Bismymuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlock221Bismymuse/gifts), [MezzaMorta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MezzaMorta/gifts).



> The idea came from a comment from my dear sherlock221Bismymuse a few weeks ago. Gifted to her and my beloved MezzaMorta who has a thing for such content I believe.
> 
> Never wrote about Sherlock having a daddy kink before and I hope I did it justice just a bit. 
> 
> Just a quick drabble to amuse you all and especially these two lovely ladies who are so busy right now!

Sherlock crosses his arms. “No.”

Mycroft rolls his eyes.

John shakes his head.

Not that Sherlock's refusal to take care of Mycroft's cases was anything new in particular. But the detective has been in a surprisingly good mood all day. He only snorted once about Greg's questions at the crime scene. He didn't make fun of Anderson. He just grinned when Donovan insulted him. And then a client came with a case that was barely a _'five'_ and he didn't throw her out, instead solving it with charm and nonchalance.

And then his brother has shown up, the usual sour expression on his face, his umbrella at his arm, all three-piece-suit perfection and sophistication.

“It will only take you an hour,” the politician/manipulator/British Government says now with barely concealed exasperation.

“Do it yourself then. You could use the legwork,” Sherlock retorts with a malicious grin. “Your _derrière_ is getting bigger by the hour.”

John has never understood these rather nasty weight 'jokes'. Mycroft is very tall and albeit he is probably not nearly as sculpted as his younger brother, he is not overweight at all. His rather tight suits show a slim body with long, fit legs. John doesn’t usually look at such male body parts but he assumes one could say he also has a nicely-shaped behind.

Mycroft has to know all this himself and as always, he glowers at Sherlock. “Stop this nonsense and do what I'm telling you!”

“Or what?” Sherlock hisses.

“Or I'll tell Mummy!” Mycroft threatens in an exceptionally low voice.

John bursts out laughing, drawing unwelcome attention from two pissed-off Holmes brothers at himself. But really – a snarky detective who can hold himself up in any brawl, tears people to shreds with nothing but his tongue, faces the most dangerous criminals without blinking, and his brother, the secret ruler of their beautiful country, a master of schemes and cold as ice – both afraid of their own _mother_ …

Sherlock glares at him just to turn back to Mycroft. “You wouldn’t dare. Because then I'll tell her about Algiers.”

Mycroft gasps and Sherlock grins in triumph.

John doesn’t bother asking. They won’t tell him anyway.

Mycroft recovers quickly. “Then, as much as it would sadden me, I'd have to inform her about a certain incident at Aunt Rhurbaba's birthday party.”

Now it's Sherlock's turn to gasp and Mycroft's lips turn into a sardonic smirk.

 _Isn't it like… a weird dance?_ John muses. Or is it rather a particularly ghastly form of chess with Sherlock being the Queen and Mycroft the Rook? War, fought with the means of threat and sarcasm? In any way it is as fascinating as it is crazy. And hold on…Aunt _Rhurbaba_?! Is this seriously a name? But then he shakes his head about himself. It's a _Holmes'_ name…

“Give me your sodding folder already!” Sherlock hisses, and John is taken aback.

That has been a rather quick submission! Usually it's him who has to throw himself into the middle and tell Mycroft they will take care of it.

Mycroft just smiles and hands the grey folder over to his brother. Sherlock takes it and tosses it aside as if to say, _'Yes, I'll take your bloody case but I'll hate every minute of solving it'_ and grabs for his violin, certainly to elicit some especially nasty tones from it.

Mycroft seems to think the same and flees after a sarcastic little bow to them and wishing them a good day. When he has reached the door, he turns and tells Sherlock, who has just started plucking at the strings with a sour face, to show up in his house in the evening to go through the then hopefully solved case with him.

Nothing new on the horizon. And still. This certain little dance of the Holmes brothers had a strange quality, didn't it? It almost felt like… _foreplay_?

John shakes his head about himself. Foreplay to _what_ exactly?! Craziness is infectious as it seems…

He watches Sherlock putting the violin aside after playing a short tune until Mycroft must have reached the downstairs door. “Will we take care of the case now?”

The detective grimaces. “Seems as if we must,” he complains and it does sound a bit too dramatic, even for Sherlock.

“And later we will go over to him and present him our solution?” John asks with his head tilted.

Sherlock stops his movements and his eyes move rapidly. “Um. No. I will do that alone. I can't subject you to such an argument again today.”

“Very considerate of you,” John mumbles and the thought _'It's as if he doesn’t_ want _me to come with him'_ flickers through his mind before he dismisses it. There is nothing going on like that – Sherlock and Mycroft in what, a sexual relationship? Ridiculous!

And frankly – if indeed they are secretly shagging each other cross-eyed instead of bickering when they meet without him, he really doesn’t want to know anything about it…

°°°        °°°        °°°

“Mm-hm. I see. Exactly what I thought this would lead to.” Mycroft turns the page to get to the rest of Sherlock's conclusions.

The detective grimaces. “I knew you could have done it yourself!”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing.” Sherlock looks down on his thighs. Mycroft's living room chairs are horribly uncomfortable but he hasn't been given permission to sit in an armchair. He shifts to find a better position.

“Sit still.”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes - Daddy.”

Mycroft smiles for a second and then he sets the folder onto the table. “I assume you think you deserve a reward for solving this case?”

Sherlock nods enthusiastically before he sees the glimmer in Mycroft's eyes. “No.”

“No? Why ever not?” Mycroft's voice is pure malicious silk with unspeakable promises.

“Because… I was insolent when you asked me to help out.”

“Indeed you were. Undermined my authority towards Doctor Watson.”

Sherlock snorts. “Authority? He thinks you're a pompous prick.”

Mycroft blushes and narrows his eyes. “Does he now?”

“ _I_ don't think that,” Sherlock hurries to add.

“I should hope so… What am I going to do with you?” Mycroft muses and Sherlock's mood lifts immediately.

They are getting somewhere! Quickly!

“I think you should show me my place,” he mumbles meekly.

“That sounds like a very good suggestion. Upstairs you go.”

Ooh, the bedroom! They do not always make it up there! How often has Sherlock spent the evening draped over one of those sodding chairs! The bed is a real treat. Or… “Are you all right?” he asks, concerned.

Mycroft gives him a genuine smile. “Yes, brother dear. My back is bothering me a bit though so I'll prefer the bed over bending over a chair to deliver your treatment…”

“I can give you a massage!” Sherlock offers at once.

“I think you're full of good ideas tonight. But that doesn’t mean you're off the hook for your ghastly behaviour.”

“Of course not.” Where would have been the fun in that?

*****

He should have known Mycroft would use the massage as another form of punishment. He has undressed next to the bed, with great slowness, exposing one pale and delicious body part after the other. But Sherlock is not allowed to touch, nor may he undress as well.

So now he is straddling Mycroft's bare thighs, still completely dressed except for his jacket and shoes. His cock is achingly stiff and he rubs his clothed groin over his brother's firm globes when he bends over to massage his shoulders.

“Don't poke me with your depraved arousal,” Mycroft scolds. “You've been a bad boy and you're just there to make me feel better.”

“Yes, Daddy. I was very bad.”

If anyone had told Sherlock two years ago that he would not only be in a sexual relationship with his brother but even indulge in roleplays with him in the submissive position, he would have snorted and rolled his eyes. But as a matter of fact, here they are and he is thoroughly enjoying himself, knowing that he will very well be allowed at some point to follow Mycroft into glorious nakedness and ejaculate sooner or later. Probably rather later but that only increases the fun!

The beginning of their distinctively unbrotherly relationship happened completely unexpectedly. They were alone in Mycroft's office – at this point John wasn’t a part of Sherlock's life. The dark days of the drugs were over though and he was already frequently working for the Yard. But he had upset someone Mycroft had sent to him to help him, a lord above all, and Mycroft was furious. They were snarling and shouting, the atmosphere between them strangely loaded, and then they both shut their mouths and stared at each other, and a moment later, they crashed together, snogging the living daylights of out of each other, and it became pretty evident that these desires had been hiding in their unconscious for quite a long time.

They went through all the stages of a – of course highly secret – relationship, exploring their sexuality with each other, and they did so very satisfyingly for both of them, and at one point Sherlock discovered his submissive side, and there was no doubt about Mycroft's matching dominant side. Just one more piece of the puzzle…

So he willingly and gladly massages his brother's tense shoulders now and then carefully loosens the hard muscles of his neck. Of course Mycroft was staring at his computer screen for way too long once more. His brother has to take better care of himself or he will suffer a heart attack before he's even forty.

“I can hear you think,” Mycroft mumbles into the pillows. “And yes – you'll inherit all my possessions.”

“That's not funny,” Sherlock growls. “You must exercise more and not just sit around all day.”

“Pardon me?! You are repeating your insult about my _derrière_?!”

Sherlock is basically sitting on said _derrière_ and it's firm and well-trained. “I am not! But you have to look after yourself!”

“I won't have this tone, Sherlock Holmes!”

“Sorry, Daddy,” Sherlock mumbles, returning to their game.

“I surely hope you're sorry! Get off of me now!”

 Sherlock hurries to sit on the bed next to him and the next moment his hands are pinned above his head, and Mycroft is staring down on him with sparkling eyes. Sherlock is very pleased to see he is looking a lot better already. He has always known he has magic hands!

“Insolent boy,” Mycroft accuses. “Keep your hands were they are!”

“Yes, Daddy.” Sherlock doesn't even think of objecting to him. He keeps still while his hands are tied with a soft, silky rope. The knot is made in a way he could easily free himself. One never knows…

Mycroft makes no attempt at undressing him. Instead he scrambles onto the bed and straddles Sherlock's face. The younger man almost keels over at the sight and the implication. He sticks his tongue out before Mycroft is even in the proper place and so he welcomes him with wetness and determination.

“Now that's a good boy,” Mycroft purrs. “Now lick Daddy's hole and he might forgive you.”

Sherlock plunges his tongue into his brother, eager to please and indulging himself in the older man's musky taste. He licks and laps, his cock straining painfully against his flies. He wishes he could touch himself with one hand and his brother's cock and silky balls with the other one, but of course that's not an option.

So he gives Mycroft a thorough rim job while remaining untouched, and he almost comes at the infatuating taste and the noises of pleasure Mycroft is making. He is whimpering and groaning, no holding back, and it's the best sound in the world.

“Yes, boy, eat out your daddy's nasty hole,” Mycroft pants, and Sherlock grins against his velvety cheeks.

Nothing about Mycroft is dirty or repelling and Sherlock would have gladly spoilt him with his tongue for hours.

Mycroft doesn’t let him of course. He eventually slides down from Sherlock's body. “That was very good. And now turn around.”

Sherlock hurries to obey and groans in relief when finally his trousers and pants are pulled down. Mycroft is not about to return the favour though, just as Sherlock has expected. Instead he lands a hearty blow on Sherlock's arse and it stings deliciously.

“What will you say next time when I ask you for help on a case?” he thunders.

 _'Stick the folder up your arse'_ , Sherlock is tempted to answer, and he giggles into the sheets.

Mycroft lets out a knowing chuckle. “I'm sorry?” he asks sternly then.

“Didn’t say anything!”

“I could hear you think and you laughed, and it was appalling!”

“Sorry, Daddy.”

“As you should be! So?”

“I'll say it's my pleasure to help you.”

“Will you now? Not sure I believe you.” Mycroft gives him another slap with his bare hand and it echoes from the walls most appealingly.

They have a safeword of course. Should Mycroft hit too hard for Sherlock's taste, he will say 'Mummy' and Mycroft will stop at once. Sherlock has never said 'Mummy' under such circumstances… Mycroft has never overstepped the mark and Sherlock is rather sure that even if his brother was really vicious in his fake punishment, he would still love and crave it…

“If the case is boring, I won't,” he provokes him now, making Mycroft gasp in faux outrage.

“How dare you?!”

Another three blows follow, and Sherlock feels his cheek get hot and he can imagine the red marks Mycroft's large hand is leaving on it.

“Sorry, Daddy,” he says again, and then he's rolled onto his back.

“You're not sorry at all! What the hell shall I do with you?” Mycroft hisses, his blue eyes sparkling with joy and something nobody who knows him apart from Sherlock would expect in them – deep affection.

Sherlock loves him so much that his heart cramps together at the sight. Mycroft looks so handsome and young when he's like that. There is no hint of the overworked government official in his face now, a man who shoulders way too much responsibility to ever really relax. Or at least he never did before they found out that they are drawn to each other in a way nobody would approve of.

In moments like this, Mycroft allows himself to forget the demanding world outside. He is completely Sherlock's now and Sherlock is his, and Sherlock is living for these rare enough moments. They meet about once a week if they are lucky and their schedules allow it and John is distracted or they find an excuse for Sherlock to visit Mycroft, like tonight.

Mycroft sometimes says in this way things keep being interesting between them. Sherlock is sure though that even if they met every day, he would never get tired of it.

“You should fuck the insolence out of me,” he suggests now.

“Ah, wouldn’t that be a reward rather than a punishment?” Mycroft asks with a barely-there twinkle.

Sherlock shakes his head vehemently. “No, Daddy, because I loathe it and you're horrible when you take me so hard.”

“Am I now… In this case I think I should really take to such mean measures and show you who the boss is.”

“Me?” Sherlock retorts before grinning and whispering 'sorry' for dropping out of character.

Mycroft just grins and reaches for his nightstand after freeing him from the rope. “Undress already, you awful boy!”

Sherlock hastens to comply and he is naked within the blink of an eye, throwing his socks over his shoulder the moment Mycroft grabs his legs to drape them over _his_ shoulders.

He doesn’t bother with preparing Sherlock for longer than twenty seconds, working two fingers into him in quick succession. His eyes are not leaving Sherlock's face for a moment, waiting for a hint of pain which would make him stop at once. Sherlock slaps his brother's pert arse instead, urging him to get on with it.

And he groans and throws back his head when Mycroft's large cock slides into him. His brother is hung like a donkey and in the beginnings of their sexual relationship it felt as if it was a sword that went right up his throat. But he's grown to love it very quickly and now he moves his hips towards his brother to be impaled even deeper.

“Greedy boy,” Mycroft chides but he obeys and proceeds to thrust into him increasingly hard.

Sherlock has always struggled with his ever-thrumming brain, taking to numbing it with drugs just to have some peace and quiet for a while. But after a few almost lethal overdoses and exceptionally ghastly rehabs to which he'd been sent by nobody else than his big brother, he gave them up for good, trying to soothe his brain with solving cases instead, and it does work pretty well. But nothing gives him more peace than being fucked by his brother, the harder the better as harder means a stronger orgasm, and the heftier he comes, the longer he can enjoy the silence.

Mycroft knows that all of course and he is happy to provide this lovely distraction. Panting and groaning, he is pumping into Sherlock now, hitting his prostate in the most delicious way.

And then he hits his backside again. “That'll show you to behave next time!” he rasps out.

Sherlock howls in pleasure. “Yes, Daddy. I'll be your good boy then, Daddy.” He sometimes can't believe he's saying such horribly clichéd things but somehow they work for them.

A moment later Mycroft presses his legs down almost painfully and is in him as deep as never before, his teeth scratching over Sherlock's neck, and that's it, he comes in thick, hot spurts between their bodies, crying out, cramping his fingers into Mycroft's shoulders, and his brother grunts and releases himself into him, filling Sherlock with hot seed.

They collapse into a pile, Mycroft still entangled with him, and Sherlock is holding onto him, kissing his mouth, biting his bottom lip while he is shuddering through the aftermaths of his mind-blowing orgasm, and his brain is wonderfully silent.

“Thank you, Mycie,” he mumbles, and his brother chuckles against his lips.

“You're welcome, little brother. Insolent brat,” he adds affectionately.

“Very,” Sherlock agrees, and he knows if he loved this man just a little bit more, his heart would just implode.

°°°        °°°        °°°

John looks up from his book when Sherlock slips into the flat. He smiles when Sherlock enters the living room, certainly for getting a glass of water before going to bed.

“Oh. You're still awake?”

“Yeah, couldn’t sleep,” John lies. In the years with Sherlock, he has learned to lie convincingly. But actually it isn’t really a lie. He wanted to be there when Sherlock comes home.

It's impossible to miss. Sherlock's hair is neat, his scarf is bound perfectly and he oozes his usual cool demeanour.

But only an idiot could miss that he's had sex. And very good sex above all… It's in his eyes, his way of walking, the air of satisfaction that surrounds him. He's been thoroughly fucked.

“Um, just… Needed some water,” Sherlock stammers, and this alone is the last proof John has needed.

“Sure. Your brother's satisfied?”

Sherlock, on his way to the kitchen, whirls around. “What?”

“With your solution for his case?” John adds innocently.

“Oh. Yes. Quite grateful, too.”

 _Oh, I bet…_ “That's good.” John stretches in his armchair. “Think I'll go to bed now. Sleep well.”

“Thanks. You too.”

John shakes his head while walking upstairs. He's had a lot of time to think about the Holmes brothers tonight, realising he's been wrong about not wanting to know what they do when they meet. There is no doubt that they haven’t spent their evening bickering and throwing insults at each other's heads. They've obviously had a splendid time together and John isn't exactly repulsed by the image. Actually he thinks it's fucking hot…

_Holmeses. You have to love them…_


End file.
